


of motorcycles, stargazing, and running away

by taoslefteyelid



Category: EXO (Band), Z.Tao (Musician)
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Nightmares, TaoHun - Freeform, existential fluff, mildly angsty in the middle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-02 14:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19200631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taoslefteyelid/pseuds/taoslefteyelid
Summary: Running comes easily to Sehun.





	of motorcycles, stargazing, and running away

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt Petal:** #8
> 
>  **Author's Note:** This fic ended up taking a turn from what I originally thought of when I read the prompt, but I do hope the prompter and the readers enjoy it! Thank you for reading and supporting the fest!

To be honest, Sehun didn’t really have an issue with random people bursting into his life. He never would have agreed to live with his brother if he did, what with Chanyeol’s habit of bringing whoever he wanted over whenever he wanted.

 

However, Sehun never signed up for  _ this. _

 

It starts on a rainy Wednesday evening, Sehun curled up in his bed watching Netflix, trying to make out the audio from his shitty laptop speakers since his headphones broke last month and he hasn’t gotten around to fixing them or buying new ones.

 

He hears the door open and ignores it, knowing that Chanyeol comes home at around this time after he finishes with that guitar group that just meets up and talks about music when they can. It’s a strange arrangement, but it makes Chanyeol happy, and that’s what matters. 

 

There’s the normal bustling that Chanyeol entering the house brings about, and Sehun can’t hear  _ anything _ on his laptop anymore, so he just sighs and resigns himself to reading the subtitles, before slamming his laptop shut. It’s just not the same without the sound. 

 

He can make out muffled talking, so he makes his way over to his door, ready to poke his head out and look down the corridor into the living room. Chanyeol sometimes brings a mutual friend over, and Sehun is bored, so he might as well have some social interaction. 

 

“-can wait here, I just need to go put Lucero away, she’s delicate.”

 

Sehun rolls his eyes. Chanyeol names all of his guitars, and it’s the weirdest shit he’s ever seen.

 

“Yeah, sure, don’t worry about it.”

 

The voice is unfamiliar, but for some reason, Sehun thinks he recognizes it. 

 

“Hey, is that my man Jongin?”, he calls out, instantly regretting it the second he says it. 

 

A tall figure suddenly steps backwards into his line of vision, regarding him curiously, and then shrugs.

 

“I could be your man if you want.”

 

Sehun freezes. 

 

How the fuck is he supposed to respond to that?

 

He’s pretty sure his mouth is hanging open as he stares awkwardly the man in front of him, and  _ oh my god, what a fucking man. _

 

He’s tall, and his hair is dyed blonde, and even though Sehun is a bit too far away to properly see, it looks like his ears are filled with piercings. He’s wearing ripped black skinnies and a leather jacket. Long, drawn out exposition short, he looks like the stereotypical Bad Boy in every Wattpad fanfiction ever.

 

And he’s exactly Sehun’s type.

 

“Are you trying to flirt with my little brother, Zitao?”

 

Chanyeol’s voice shakes him out of his reverie, and he’s torn between darting back inside the safety of his room and shutting the door, or just collapsing to the floor and dying of embarrassment. 

 

“No, no, I’m not  _ trying _ to flirt with him. I actually  _ did  _ flirt with him and then he stared at me like I was an alien for like two full minutes.”

 

Sehun’s leaning towards the second option.

 

Chanyeol laughs his loud, annoying laugh, and all Sehun wants to do is melt into a puddle and be squeegeed off the face of the Earth.

 

“Stop making fun of me,” he manages to choke out, though he doubts Chanyeol is going to listen to him, because Chanyeol is a demon and doesn’t deserve rights. 

 

“Come out here, dumbass, I might as well introduce the two of you to each other.”

 

Sehun considers just jumping out the window instead, but he sighs, and shuffles down the corridor, rubbing his arms as he enters the living room. It’s still chilly, even though spring has begun. 

 

“Sehun, this is Zitao. He’s new in the city, an internship or something. He’s been coming to our little music meetups for the past three days, and he had to stop by here today since it’s raining way too much for him to be able to ride his motorcycle home.”

 

Of course he has a fucking motorcycle.

 

Sehun waves half heartedly at him, still wallowing in his flustered embarrassment.

 

Zitao smiles, lips curling up, almost cat-like. Sehun catches a hint of eyeliner going up in a short but sharp line, making his slightly terrifying gaze seem more enticing. Awkward silence fills the room, Zitao’s gaze burning holes into Sehun’s soul while Sehun tries not to have a heart attack from overwhelming embarrassment and flusteredness, whereas Chanyeol seems absolutely oblivious.

 

“Well,” says Sehun, finally deciding to break the silence, disregarding the personal cost of embarrassing himself. “You’re a bit shameless, aren’t you?”

 

Zitao laughs, and it’s a high pitched giggle, the complete opposite of the way he looks. 

 

“Aw, come on, I’m not shameless, you’re just too pretty.”

 

Yeah, Sehun should’ve definitely kept his mouth shut. He’s probably more red than he was before, which was an achievement, to say the least.

 

“Shameless,” he squeaks, before Chanyeol is laughing again. 

 

“Didn't I teach you how to flirt, Sehunnie? You’re embarrassing me in front of the new kid.”

 

Sehun manages to take a break from his internal mental breakdown to glare at Chanyeol.

 

“ _ I’m  _ embarrassing  _ you _ ?”

 

Chanyeol raises his hands in defeat, still laughing.

 

“I don’t know, man, I’m not the one who’s bright red and won’t look anyone in the eye.”

 

Sehun ignores him, clearing his throat as he tries to think of a way to clear the awkwardness, something, anything.

 

“So, uh, you play guitar, huh?”, he asks Zitao, regretting it the second he says it.  _ Really? That’s all he can come up with? _

 

Zitao smiles at him. Okay. This isn’t that bad. He doesn’t seem to think Sehun is a weirdo. That’s good.

 

“Ah, yeah. I’m actually more of a piano person, but I play guitar too. I’m less polished at it since I’m left handed, and you know what a pain left handed guitars are to find, so I have to settle with a right handed guitar, and it’s a whole issue blah blah-“

 

Sehun blinks. Zitao talks animatedly, too much with his hands. Not something you’d expect from someone dressed like a biker-punk hybrid. 

 

“About that,” Chanyeol interrupts. “I was thinking, did you maybe want to take a gig at the café? I heard you were looking for a job, and-“

 

Sehun rolls his eyes. Chanyeol owned the café he worked at (courtesy of their rich parents) and it’s his pride and joy. He hands out jobs like free candy. His brother is kind, too kind. It worries Sehun, frankly. Zitao, however, looks absolutely overjoyed.

 

“Really? You’d let me play at your café?”

 

Chanyeol claps his hand on Zitao’s back.

 

“Of course! You’re good, really good, and I’ve been thinking of getting live music in the café for a while now. We could start with you, test it out, see how it goes.” 

 

Zitao opens his mouth to respond, but Sehun cuts in.

 

“Do you guys really need me here? Or do you just want someone to embarrass?”

 

Chanyeol snorts.

 

“No one’s holding you captive, you antisocial hermit. Go, go, scurry along to your room. Watch that cop show you keep talking about.”

 

Sehun responds how anyone would. He flips Chanyeol off, and runs back to his room, like he always does.

 

Stupid brothers and their stupid, hot friends.

 

***

 

Sehun tends to have recurring dreams. Well, nightmares. Recurring nightmares. 

 

It starts out with him an empty room, and there’s something heavy around his neck. He never knows what it is, never knows how it got there. All he knows is that it’s attached to a cold metal chain that strings around his neck, weighing him down. 

 

He can’t move. Most of the time, at least. He stays planted where he is, not knowing what’s going on, until the figure appears. 

 

The figure is what makes it a nightmare. It’s vaguely humanoid, and every single time, without fail, it reaches in and grabs the chain around Sehun’s neck, and  _ pulls. _ It always feels like Sehun is choking, up until the chain snaps, which it always does.

 

There is only one thing that isn’t a constant, only one thing that changes every time he has the dream. His own reaction. 

 

Sometimes he starts crying, other times he screams, but mostly, he runs. He backpedals, gets as far away as possible.

 

Running is what he does best.

 

***

 

Sehun hadn’t considered the fact that if Zitao took the gig, he’d technically be Sehun’s coworker. Now, however, he realises it as Zitao walks into the café, guitar in hand, as Sehun mans the hell desk. Sehun’s in the middle of taking an order for a white mocha when Zitao waves at him, and he chokes halfway through telling the customer their total. 

 

“That’ll be $3.20,” he says, clearing his throat, as he watches Zitao makes his way over to the counter, guitar in hand. 

 

“Hey, nice to see you,” says Zitao as he crosses his arms on top of the counter that separates employees from customers. “You come here often?” 

 

“I work here,” Sehun says, and mentally kicks himself for it. Zitao can see the apron, he knows Sehun works here. An idiot. Sehun’s an idiot.

 

Zitao doesn’t seem to mind though, smiling lazily at Sehun. 

 

“You know, I’d say we met quite suddenly, don’t you think? Why don’t we try again?”

 

Sehun can’t think of anything to say, so he just flusteredly mumbles a quick “yeah”.

 

“Great,” Zitao smiles. “Hi, my name is Huang Zitao, I’m your new coworker.”

 

There’s something endearing about the way Zitao seems to find Sehun getting flustered cute, the way Zitao coaxes him through it. Sehun smiles shyly.

 

“Hi,” he whispers.

 

That’s all it takes for Zitao to beam at him. 

 

“I should start playing now, I think. Don’t want Chanyeol to fire me before I even start.”  

 

Sehun strangely doesn’t want Zitao to leave, even though he’s spoken a grand total of five words in the whole conversation and is flustered beyond belief. He sees the man walking towards the counter to order though, so he nods hurriedly. 

 

Zitao smiles at him one last time before he turns and settles into the chair and mic arrangement Chanyeol had helped Jongdae set up in the morning. Sehun watches as he turns on the mic, but is distracted by a customer before Zitao addresses anyone in the café. The customer wants a grilled chicken sandwich, and Sehun fumbles through ringing him up and telling the kitchen what’s needed before turning back to Zitao. 

 

“-and uh, I’ll guess I’ll start now, I hope everyone enjoys this! If you don’t, can you not tell my boss? I just got hired, and I have student loans.” 

 

There’s light laughter filling the room. The crowd already loves him. Sehun’s still wondering how someone dressed head to toe in black leather can make everyone feel so comfortable. When  _ Sehun  _ had gone through his Scene phase and gotten clip on earrings, it was like everyone wanted to stay at least ten feet away from him at all times. Granted, that might’ve been because Sehun refused to speak in anything other than MCR lyrics, but Zitao had a magnetism about him, the kind that pulls you in with whispers of danger but gives you a warm sense of home instead. 

 

Zitao smiles, and then looks down to his guitar. He’s not using a plectrum, Sehun notes. No wonder Chanyeol likes him, he liked to talk about how a plectrum was a barrier between the instrument and you. 

 

He strums the first chord, and Sehun can already tell he’s good. Then he actually opens his mouth to sing, and Sehun almost slips when he does. 

 

It’s not like his voice is nectar from the sweetest flower, or moonlight on waves. It’s nowhere near as gentle as that. It’s more rough hewn, more tidal wave than ripple, more ichor flowing through the veins of gods than honey over flowers. Zitao’s voice isn’t conventionally pretty, but something about it commands you to listen. He sings, and he sings well, and it’s beautiful. Just a different kind of beautiful.

 

Sehun spends way too long staring at him, listening to him sing, some old song from the 80s that a few people in the room seem to recognize. Someone clears their throat. Right.

 

He has an actual job to do.

 

***

 

Sehun’s wiping down the counter, the last customers for the night having left five minutes ago, when Zitao comes up to him, guitar slung over his shoulder. He pauses and looks up from a coffee stain that’s been there for four months now, to be greeted by Zitao’s smile. He’s getting to see that a lot, but it’s not less blinding each time. 

 

“Uh, hey,” he says, fingers clenching around the cloth he’s using to clean. “You played amazingly today.” 

 

Zitao  _ did  _ play amazingly. Everyone loved him, smatterings of applause mixed with people personally coming up to him with requests. Jongdae even joined him for a duet, completely abandoning Baekhyun in the barista area. Sehun’s always known that Jongdae wanted to be a vocalist, so he’s not surprised when Jongdae sings in a way that makes the air seem crisper. He is, however, surprised by the fact that Zitao can also  _ rap _ . Sehun completely forgets about ringing up customers during the duet, too busy looking at the way Zitao seems to be one with his flow, the way his shoulders loosen and head tips back. 

 

“Ah, thank you so much,” Zitao replies. “I love doing gigs like this, where there’s a bunch of people. The energy- It’s hard to describe.” 

 

Sehun shuffles his feet. 

 

“Did Chanyeol tell you what days you’ll be playing here?” 

 

“Uh, yeah, yeah, he said Friday and Saturday evenings.” 

 

Sehun nods, trying not to look too disappointed. He has no reason to be disappointed. Having live music be a weekend attraction was a solid move. 

 

“Listen, do you wanna go out tomorrow? I know a great place we could grab lunch.” 

 

Sehun coughs. 

 

“You-”, he says, interrupted by another cough. “You really don’t beat around the bush, do you?” 

 

“You’re cute,” and Sehun kinda wants to die because of the look on Zitao’s face. “And I figured why not? It’ll be fun, promise. I’ll pick you up at noon?” 

 

Sehun takes a second, and then he’s speaking. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, sure. That sounds great.” 

 

He smiles.

 

Zitao reaches over and pats his cheek. 

 

“Cool, see you there,” he says, pulling away and walking to the door. He waves at Sehun, and then he’s gone, leaving Sehun standing behind the counter, fingertips grazing his own cheek. 

 

Sehun sighs, slumping against the counter as he keeps his hand pressed against his skin.

 

What has he gotten himself into?

 

***

 

“I, uh-“

 

Chanyeol looks up from the papers he’s pouring over on the couch up at Sehun.

 

“What’s up?”

 

“I have a- a date. Tomorrow. With Zitao.”

 

Chanyeol takes a second, staring at Sehun, before he speaks.

 

“That was fast.”

 

“Uh, yeah, but he asked me for lunch and I thought why not and…”

 

Sehun trails off as Chanyeol smiles at him.

 

“Anyways, he’s going to be picking me up tomorrow. Just thought I’d let you know.”

 

Sehun starts to move towards the kitchen to grab something for a really, really late dinner, but Chanyeol starts talking again.

 

“He’s a good kid, I’m glad you two are going out.”

 

Sehun reddens.

 

“You make it sound like we’re engaged or something. It’s just a date.”

 

Chanyeol laughs and waves him off. 

 

Sehun smiles.

 

***

 

Looking at Zitao, Sehun thought that he’d be pressed against a wall in some abandoned alley somewhere on their first date, but it turns out Zitao is more of the “pull-out-your-chair-open-your-door” kind of person. 

 

The first thing Sehun notices, however, is brought to his attention the second Zitao takes off his motorcycle helmet.

 

“Your hair-“

 

“Is black, yeah, I dyed it today morning.” 

 

Sehun resists the urge to reach out and run his hand through Zitao’s hair. He looks softer with black hair. Less cutthroat emo, more soft alternative goth boy.

 

The  _ second  _ thing Sehun notices, is slightly more troubling. 

 

“We’re going to go on your motorcycle?”

 

Zitao laughs, and Sehun still has to restrain himself from pretending to fix his hair.

 

“Are you scared?”

 

“What? No! No, I’m just… apprehensive.”

 

“Okay, Mister Apprehensive, get on the bike.”

 

Zitao puts his helmet back on as Sehun gingerly climbs on, awkwardly clinging to the back of the bike.

 

Zitao turns, voice muffled by the helmet. 

 

“Oh no, you’ll want to hold onto me. I don’t think flying off a bike is on top of your list of priorities today.”

 

Sehun places his hands gently on Zitao’s shoulders. He’s switched out his leather jacket for a black cotton button down open over his shirt. Spring is slowly getting warmer. 

 

Zitao revs the bike once, twice, before Sehun’s flung forward, chest pressed against Zitao’s back, Sehun’s hands scrabbling to cling to his waist. 

 

“How’s your apprehension doing now?”, Zitao calls out, barely audible between the helmet and the wind smacking Sehun in the face as they speed down the road. 

 

Sehun doesn’t respond, opting instead to press closer to Zitao and squeak in a very undignified manner. He draws the line at burying his face in Zitao’s shoulder, though. There’s only so much embarrassment he can take.

 

Sehun clings to Zitao for the entirety of the ride, but he enjoys it too. There’s something freeing about the wind in his face, and he’d be lying if he said that having an excuse to place him arms on Zitao’s  _ very  _ firm chest wasn’t enjoyable. 

 

They’re driving for a good ten minutes, before Zitao slows down and turns. He puts one of his legs down to support the bike’s weight when they stop. Sehun’s still clinging to him, looking up at where they are. 

 

_ Cosmic Sundae.  _ Ice cream?

 

“You know, you can let go of me now.”

 

Sehun starts, and hurriedly lets go of Zitao. He gets off the bike awkwardly, watching as Zitao leans to keep his balance. Zitao gets off too, taking off his helmet and running his hand through his hair to smooth it out. Sehun’s palms are suddenly extremely sweaty.

 

Zitao looks over at him.

 

“We need to get you a helmet. Next time.”

 

Sehun doesn’t know what comes across him, but he arches an eyebrow.

 

“Bold of you to assume there’s going to be a next time. Ice cream for lunch, really? A scoop isn’t going to really fill my stomach, you know.”

 

Zitao laughs and then grabs Sehun wrist. Sehun fights to keep his heartbeat under control. He doesn’t really want a heart attack, and Zitao’s fingers are on his pulse point, so any change in pulse rate would be majorly embarrassing.

 

Zitao tugs him a bit closer. 

 

“Okay,” he says, smirking. “Let me impress you.”

 

Sehun gulps.

 

***

 

Ten minutes later, Sehun is sat in front of possibly the biggest hot chocolate fudge sundae he’s ever seen in his life. 

 

“That thing looks bigger than my torso. I’m not joking Zitao, it’s bigger than my torso, how are we going to eat this?” 

 

Zitao laughs. 

 

“Are you not impressed? Largest sundae I’ve ever had in my life. This is all we’re having for lunch, so go on, you don’t want it to melt.”

 

Sehun grabs a spoon. It tastes like a hot chocolate fudge sundae. Ergo, like heaven. 

 

“So we’re doing dessert for lunch?” 

 

Zitao shrugs. 

 

“Why not? We can do dessert for dessert too. Double dessert, doesn’t that sound great?” 

 

Sehun has a sweet tooth, he’d be the first to admit it, so he nods. 

 

“Anyways,” Zitao says, having a spoon from their sundae. “Tell me about yourself.” 

 

“Uh, my name is Sehun, I like  _ Brooklyn Nine Nine _ and my favorite colors are blue and pink.” 

 

Zitao drops his spoon in the sundae dish, fake offense plastered over his face. Again, Sehun notes how strange it looks, someone who looks so cold being so animated. 

 

“That’s all I get? You get to know that I play guitar, I just moved here, and that I have a bike and all I get is your favorite show and favorite color?” 

 

“You make it sound like I know your whole life history. I know three things about you, you know two things about me. Not really a staggering difference.”

 

Zitao grins. 

 

“Okay. We need to make it even, but you’re obviously not going to make this easy for me. So, let’s do something fun. Let’s play a game.” 

 

Sehun leans forward, feeling more at ease than he had a few minutes ago. 

 

“You’re on.” 

 

“Okay,” says Zitao, smugly taking another bite of his sundae, more of the chocolate heaped on his spoon than the actual ice cream. “Here’s the rules: You make an assumption about me, I make an assumption about you. Whoever gets one wrong, has to feed the other a bite of ice cream from their side of the sundae. Both of us get it wrong, we get nothing, both of us get it  _ right _ , we still don’t get anything, because being even is boring.” 

 

Sehun laughs. 

 

“Alright,” he says, calming down enough to speak. He can see Zitao hide a smile too. “Let’s do this. Wanna go first?” 

 

Zitao looks at him, and suddenly Sehun feels like his soul is being stared into. 

 

“You were an Arts major.” 

 

Sehun almost drops his spoon.  _ College. _

 

He composes himself. 

 

“Well,” he says, slowly nodding. “Technically, you’re correct.” 

 

“Technically?” 

 

Sehun sighs. 

 

“I never finished my degree. I dropped out, it got… too much. It’s why I work at the café. Chanyeol lets me have flexible hours and I have something to do with my day.” 

 

Zitao nods sympathetically. 

 

“I get that, college can be hard to get through. I did a music theory major, barely made it out of there. The  _ amount  _ of physics involved in that stuff, you have no idea.” 

 

Sehun usually hates talking about college, but Zitao’s already made him comfortable again. 

 

“Tell me more,” he says, putting a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth as he stares directly at Zitao. 

 

“It’s calculus with emotions, that’s all I can say. Also,” Zitao says, tapping his spoon against the sundae dish. “Your turn.” 

 

“You’re into emo music.” 

 

Zitao laughs so loudly that he almost falls out of his chair. 

 

“I wonder-”

 

He stops, cut off by another fit of laughter. 

 

“I wonder what clued you into that,” he says, adjusting his overshirt. “Surprisingly enough, you’re wrong. I’m an 80s pop kind of person. Featuring guilty pleasure Mariah Carey. And also rap, I love rap.”

 

Sehun gapes at him. 

 

“Then why do you dress like-”

 

“Like I’m a serial killer? Ah, Hun-ah, I’ll let you in on a little secret. I do it for the aesthetic.”

 

Sehun blinks, flushing slightly at the nickname. 

 

“You got around twenty piercings in both your ears for the ‘aesthetic’?”

 

Zitao licks his lips to get rid of any stray ice cream after he takes a bite. He has very nice lips, Sehun notes.They look soft, and Sehun wonders how they’d feel pressed against his neck before Zitao is speaking again.    
  


“Ah, no. The piercings are different. Back when I was doing wushu competitions, every time I won one, my friends used to drive me to a tattoo and piercing place and I’d get a piercing. I got my industrial when I won the international swordplay competition. It was fun, and they’re little reminders of old times, so I keep them in. Plus, they look cool.” 

 

Sehun agrees, they do look cool. They also look like they’d be perfect to tug at with his teeth. 

 

He blinks, and clears his head. 

 

“You did wushu?” 

 

“Yes, I did, but no more details, you already know too much about me. Now, you have to feed me your ice cream, because I won this round.” 

 

“What? You didn’t win!” 

 

“Yes I did,” says Zitao, smirking. “I got your major right,  _ technically.  _ It still counts.” 

 

Sehun shakes his head. 

 

“You are an evil, evil man-”

 

“Feed me the ice cream, Hun-ah, rules are rules.” 

 

Sehun rolls his eyes and digs his spoon in his side of the sundae. He reaches over and puts the spoon in front of Zitao’s mouth, and shakes his hand slightly just before Zitao eats the ice cream. A drop of melted ice cream falls directly on Zitao’s skinny jeans, and ZItao looks down at them, ice cream stuffed in his mouth, and then looks back up at Sehun.

 

Sehun smiles sweetly as Zitao reaches for a napkin, watches Zitao swallow and then laugh.

 

“Game on.”

 

***

 

They go through a few rounds, laughing and talking in the middle, and Sehun wins a lot more after the first round. Zitao doesn’t drop any ice cream on him though, which is very nice of him. Sehun learns that Zitao is an only child, here for an internship at a music mastering company. He plans to settle down here too, even once the internship is over. Zitao loves the beach and he can’t tie his shoelaces without making bunny ears and he sleeps with the windows open. Sehun likes him a little more than he already did. Zitao, in turn, learns that Sehun likes dancing and loves bubble tea, and cries when he watches  _ The Notebook  _ no matter how many times he watches it and can’t sleep without hugging a pillow.

 

“So,” says Zitao, spoon scraping the bottom of the sundae dish for the remnants of their giant ice cream platter. “My turn.” 

 

He looks Sehun up and down, and Sehun feels a familiar heat rush to his cheeks. He’s been feeling that a lot lately. 

 

“If I asked nicely, you’d have sex with me.” 

 

Sehun chokes on his own spit, coughing loud enough to draw other people’s attention. He feels himself turning even redder than before as he blinks away the tears in his eyes from his choking fit and turns to face Zitao. 

 

“Just because I find you extremely attractive, does not mean you can say stuff like that-” 

 

“You find me extremely attractive? Good to know the feeling is mutual.” 

 

Sehun’s so close to choking again. The want to be squeeged is back, and it’s not fun. 

 

“Anyways,” Zitao says, so casually, as if he hasn’t made Sehun a flustered mess with two sentences, “We’re out of lunch.”

 

Sehun looks down, and indeed, the sundae is over. 

 

“I was thinking for dessert we could do three things.” 

 

Sehun meets Zitao’s eyes and he can see the smirk in them. 

 

Zitao holds out three fingers. 

 

“Ice cream, ice cream, or, and this is a wildcard, ice cream.” 

 

Zitao’s smile has reached his lips. 

 

Sehun smiles back.

 

***

 

A week later, Zitao takes Sehun out on their third date. Their second was disguised as Sehun taking Zitao around the city, but they both knew it was a date, if the way Zitao had showed up and tucked a rose behind Sehun’s ear was anything to go by. 

 

Turns out Zitao  _ is  _ the type of person who’d push you up against a wall and kiss you senseless, just not on the first date. 

 

Sehun’s currently pressed against a brick wall, Zitao standing over him in a graffitied alley he’d tugged him into. 

 

Sehun’s not exactly sure how this happened, too distracted by Zitao’s lips against his own and ZItao’s chest under his fingers. All he remembers is talking casually to Zitao while walking in the mostly empty street, about the café and how he’d had an incredibly rude customer on Thursday, and then them brushing hands and staring at each other, before they’d stumbled in here and Zitao had kissed Sehun senseless. 

 

Zitao pulls away from the kiss he’s had Sehun trapped in, and both of them are breathing heavily. 

 

“One more,” Sehun rasps out, and he leans in. It’s very gentle, even though he’s pressed against some high schooler’s rebellious act of vandalism. (It says “fuck the police” in cursive font and red spray paint, the type of red that hurts the eye. Luckily, Sehun is pressed against it and doesn’t have to look at it.)

 

They pull away once again, and Zitao smiles at him and moves back, offering his hand for Sehun to take. Sehun takes a deep breath, leaning against the wall, until he puts his hand in Zitao’s with an exaggerated flourish. 

 

“So,” Zitao asks, tugging Sehun along. “Did you like that?” 

 

Sehun’s still flustered about how direct Zitao can be, how he asks questions with no shame. He blushes and ducks his head, but Zitao’s hand covering his own makes him look up. 

 

He smiles shyly. 

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

 

***

 

Zitao comes to the café every evening, not just evenings when he plays. It’s Thursday, and Sehun’s cleaning up, all their patrons having already left, when Zitao slides up behind him and kisses his neck. 

 

“Hey,” Sehun laughs, turning around to face him. It’s been a month since their first date, spring is now almost officially summer, and Zitao is now officially Sehun’s boyfriend. 

 

“What are you doing here? I’m locking up, I’m supposed to be the last person here, how did one of the others not kick you out?” 

 

“Jongdae and I are friends, he’d never kick me out. Not if it was because I wanted to meet you, the object of my affectio-” 

 

“How much did you pay him?” 

 

“Twenty bucks so that I get employee perks.” 

 

Sehun nods, smiling.

 

“That’s what I thought.” 

 

“I kept trying to get your attention, but you were too busy talking to customers.” 

 

“I have a  _ job. _ ” 

 

“Uh huh,” says Zitao, swaying Sehun from side to side. “Wanna dance?” 

 

“If you count moving from side to side as dancing, I’d say we’re already doing it.”

 

“You dance, don’t you? With that dance group? How’s that going?”

 

Sehun tenses, and hopes Zitao doesn’t notice as he stiffens in his arms. It comes almost naturally to tell him what he told Chanyeol. 

 

“I- uh, we’re on hiatus.” 

 

Zitao nods in understanding, but his face as he looks at Sehun is so adoring and trusting, that Sehun can’t do it.

 

“Actually, no, no. We aren’t on- on hiatus. I left.” 

 

Zitao furrows his brows in confusion. 

 

“Why-”

 

“We started getting really popular really fast, and then we got a bunch of gigs, and then we were going to go on tour and I- I couldn’t do it. It was too much, I was too scared. I ran away from my problems, again.”

 

Zitao looks at him, and there’s something in his eyes that Sehun can’t place.

 

“It’s okay,” he starts. “Sometimes we need to make decisions that make us comfortable-” 

 

Sehun cuts in. 

 

“You look preoccupied. You’re judging me.” 

 

“No, no, I’m not judging you, Hun-ah. Judging you is the last thing I would do. Your decisions are your decisions. I’m not judging you, I’m just thinking.” 

 

“Thinking what?”, asks Sehun, and his voice trembles a bit more than usual. He’s vulnerable, and this is scary, but he fights to keep his feet planted in the ground, Zitao’s arms around him keeping him anchored. 

 

“What it’ll take to get you to stay put.”

 

Sehun buries his head in Zitao’s shoulder. 

 

He doesn’t answer.

 

***

 

The figure in Sehun’s nightmares has a face now.

 

It’s Zitao’s.

 

***

 

Summer has quickly taken over, and Zitao switches out his black overshirts for tank tops. This spells trouble for Sehun, because Zitao’s arms are insanely well defined and make him ten times more attractive. That’s beside the point, because summer means clear nights and clear skies, and Zitao has the keys to the roof of his apartment complex. 

 

That’s where they spend most of their nights, on the roof with food and some music, cuddling on the mattress Zitao hauled up as they stare up at the sky. Sometimes, Sehun spends the night after they’re done in Zitao’s apartment, other times Zitao drops him home. Once, they fall asleep right there, both of them on the roof. They agree not to do it again, because being woken up at five am by glaring sunlight isn’t fun, especially not when you slept at three. 

 

Zitao holds Sehun and points at the stars and tells him the name of each constellation, but Sehun can never remember them, not when he’s too busy staring at Zitao’s face. 

 

“You know,” whispers Zitao one night, Sehun’s head on his chest. “The universe is so vast and infinite. I used to say it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Until I met you, of course.” 

 

Sehun smacks his arm as he blushes.

 

“Stop being cheesy!” 

 

Zitao laughs at him and Sehun’s still wondering about how even after three months, Zitao can make him breathless. 

 

When Zitao calms down, they sit in comfortable silence for a while, until Sehun quietly asks. 

 

“How do you not find it terrifying? The universe, I mean. It’s so large, and we’re so insignificant and powerless, and-” 

 

Zitao’s hand covers Sehun’s. 

 

“I think the opposite. It’s so rare and beautiful, the fact that there are dying stars and yet here we are. We exist. That’s beauty enough.” 

 

Sehun lets that sink in, his ear pressed to Zitao’s comforting heartbeat. 

 

Zitao whispers, and he barely catches it, but Sehun feels like crying when he hears it. 

 

“The universe was made just to be seen by your eyes, Hun-ah.” 

 

***

 

It’s one of those nights on the roof when Sehun realises it. 

 

Zitao’s pointing at the sky, talking about the rise of Jupiter and Saturn, and Sehun turns to look at him, and the thought barrels straight to his chest, and he can’t breathe. 

 

_ I love you. _

 

It’s like every single chain of thought in his head is silenced, and he no longer cares about the lack of creamer in the café, or the possibility of going back to college, or how Saturn’s rings might be visible if the night is clear enough and they buy a telescope. No, Sehun turns to look at Zitao’s face like he always does, watches the slope of his nose and his lips while he’s talking, except this time it’s accompanied by a deafening silence and a single, quiet thought. 

 

_ I love you. _

 

It crashes into him, again and again, like high tide came in early and he was caught in it. Zitao takes a breath, and Sehun can see a small satisfied smile on his face. 

 

_ I love you I love you I love you _

 

It knocks him down again every time he tries to make sense of it, slaps him across the face with the words, and Sehun can barely breathe, and he’s  _ scared. _

 

So he does what he does best.

 

He runs. 

 

Sehun scrabbles to his feet and Zitao looks at him worriedly before he’s standing too, and he’s saying something but Sehun can’t hear him because his head won’t  _ shut up _ .

 

_ I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you  _

 

“I need to- I can’t do this anymore.”

 

“Sunshine, what?” 

 

Zitao’s nickname for him cuts through his haze, and he can feel tears start to form at the corner of his eyes as he realises what he’s about to do. He doesn’t want to do it, he really doesn’t. But Sehun is scared, and when Sehun is scared, he runs. 

 

“This, us. I can’t do it anymore.”

 

Sehun watches Zitao’s face fall and he bursts into tears. He can’t do this. 

 

_ I love you. _

 

Zitao’s face is blurry through the tears, but Sehun can see the way he loses all light, sees how he tries to say something but can’t, sees how he tries to hide his pain. Sehun wants to stay, wants to tell him everything, wants to tell him to name more stars for him, but Sehun is a coward.

 

_ I love you. _

 

Sehun runs home.

 

***

 

Running is the one thing he’s good at, and it’s not even in the literal sense. Sehun was never a track kid, he hated doing laps. It was pointless to him, and he got out of breath quickly. 

 

No, Sehun’s talent exists in running away from everything that scares him, everything that could hurt him. Distance, distance makes it easier. When he can just curl away and cry and then get up like nothing happened, quit college and get a job at his brother’s café, leave his dance group and say it’s on hiatus. It’s easier, much easier. 

 

Space and time takes dangerous things, angry things, and makes them kind. 

 

That’s what he tells himself, at least.

 

***

 

Chanyeol’s watching late night TV when he bursts into the house. 

 

Chanyeol looks up at him and then at the TV, and then back at him.

 

“Sehunnie?” 

 

Sehun has tears running down his face, and he’s furiously trying to wipe them away, but it’s making him cry even more. 

 

“I broke it off.” 

 

Chanyeol looks at him, mouth open. 

 

“With Zitao,” Sehun adds. “I broke it off with him today.” 

 

“Oh no, Sehun,” says Chanyeol, opening his arms and beckoning to Sehun. “Come here you big baby.” 

 

Sehun sobs, and barrels into Chanyeol on the couch, clutching onto the fabric of his shirt and crying as Chanyeol strokes his hair. 

 

“What did he do? You guys were doing so well, did he hurt you? Did he-” 

 

“He didn’t do anything,” Sehun rasps out. “Nothing, he did nothing wrong. It was me, I-” 

 

Sehun stops, pausing to sob, and it’s at times like this he wonders where he would be without his brother. Chanyeol rubs his back soothingly.

 

“I love him.” 

 

Chanyeol’s hand on his back freezes. 

 

“Ah, I see. You’re running away again.”

 

Sehun sobs again, but he can’t say anything. It’s true. He ran. 

 

“It’s okay to be scared Sehun, but you need to talk to him, not just break it off-”

 

Sehun sits up.

 

“You think I don’t know that? I can’t bring myself to stop running, First it was college, then it was dance-”

 

Sehun stops abruptly, and he stiffens. Chanyeol still doesn’t know about him leaving the dance group. 

 

He looks up at him. 

 

“I, uh- We never went on hiatus. I-” 

 

“You left,” says Chanyeol, nodding. “I know. I wanted to give you time to tell me yourself.”

 

Sehun stares at him for a second, and then he’s sobbing again, doubling over and crying. He can’t breathe.

 

Chanyeol holds him through it. 

 

“It’s going to be okay, Sehunnie.” 

 

Sehun doesn’t know if he’s right. 

 

***

 

Zitao texts him constantly that night and the next day, asking him what he did wrong. The day after though, Sehun gets a feeling that Chanyeol talked to Zitao because he gets five texts from him, and then they stop. 

 

“ _ Uh, hey, Hun-ah.”  _

 

_ “I know you said you didn’t want to do this anymore, but I just” _

 

_ “Let me talk to you, okay?” _

 

_ “Take your time, don’t rush into it.” _

 

_ “Just let me talk to you sunshine. Eventually.” _

 

Sehun cries again when he sees them. He stays at home, doesn’t go to work. Chanyeol gave him leave for as long as needed. 

 

Zitao still texts occasionally, one line every few hours. 

 

Sehun reads and rereads all of them.

 

***

 

It’s a week after Sehun ran, and Sehun’s sitting on the couch eating ice cream, wallowing as he watches TV. Nothing good ever comes on at seven in the evening.

 

It’s quiet. At least, it’s quiet till Chanyeol opens the front door and comes bursting into the living room.

 

“Turn on the local news,” he says, and he sounds tense, worried. “ _ Now,  _ Sehun.”

 

“Wh-“

 

“Put on the fucking local news!”

 

Chanyeol never swears at Sehun, so Sehun scrambles for the remote and punches in the local news channel. There’s currently what looks like a road accident on screen, and oh, oh no, that’s a-

 

“Is that a motorcycle?”, asks Sehun, and his voice is slightly higher and way more panicked than usual. 

 

Chanyeol keeps his eyes glued to the TV screen, running his hands through his hair.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I passed it by on my drive home. I wanted to stop but they didn’t let me, and the haven’t identified the driver yet, and-“

 

Sehun clutches the edge of the couch. Everything hurts.

 

“Do you think it’s-“

 

Chanyeol has to look at him once for Sehun to see the worry in his eyes. They’re both thinking the same thing.

 

Chanyeol is fretting. Sehun doesn’t blame him, Zitao and Chanyeol became really good friends really fast. Sehun, Sehun isn’t fretting. The piercing weight in his stomach pins him down, his worry silent and so, so painful.

 

They hold their breath and watch the footage, and Sehun’s so close to crying. He unconsciously reaches out for Chanyeol, and grabs his sleeve, holding it as tightly as he can.

 

_ “...identified as Jacob-“ _

 

Sehun sobs out of relief when the reporter reads out the name, and it’s not him, it’s not Zitao.

 

Sehun cries, and he can’t stop, the stress getting to him. He puts his head in his hands and sobs his eyes out, taking it all out, taking out all the pent up worry. 

 

Chanyeol’s on the couch next to him, where he’d collapsed once they’d verified it wasn’t him, a comforting hand on Sehun’s back as Sehun sobs.

 

“He’s okay,” Chanyeol murmurs, rubbing Sehun’s back like he used to do when Sehun got hurt as a kid. “He’s okay, Sehunnie, he’s alright.”

 

“What if he- and I-“

 

Sehun’s blubbering, and he can hardly form coherent sentences.

 

There’s silence for a while, Sehun crying and Chanyeol gently comforting him. Slowly, Sehun’s shoulders stop heaving, and he can breathe again.

 

Chanyeol clears his throat.

 

“Go to him,” he says, still patting Sehun’s back. “I talked to him. He’s torn up, Sehun. Keeps asking me if he did something wrong, if he hurt you. Not once did he try to whine to me about you. He’s just worried about  _ you,  _ if  _ you’re  _ okay, if  _ you’re  _ hurt. He thinks he hurt you and he didn’t do enough, and it’s breaking him apart. He cried, Sehun, he cried right there in front of me.”

 

Sehun looks at Chanyeol and his heart hurts more with every word.

 

Chanyeol pats his cheek.

 

“For now, sleep. You’ve worn yourself out. But please, in the morning. Talk to him.”

 

Sehun doesn’t respond.

 

***

 

He’s having the nightmare again.

 

There he is, cold dark room. Chain around his neck. 

 

The figure emerges from the shadows, except it’s not a figure, not anymore. It’s Zitao, smile on his face and light in his eyes. It’s never been him so vividly. 

 

Zitao comes closer till he’s standing right in front of Sehun, still smiling at him. He brings his hand up, and Sehun shudders as he anticipates the choking that accompanies to pulling of the chain. Instead, his face is stroked.

 

Zitao’s looking at him adoringly, and Sehun is so close to crying, but then Zitao’s hands curl around the heaviness on his neck, and tug. There’s a brief snap, and Sehun feels no pain, but he panics anyways.

 

His eyes widen, and he tries to say something but he can’t. Zitao looks at him, and then he’s mouthing words.

 

“Trust me.”

 

Sehun’s still shaking, and for the first time he sees what’s always around his neck in Zitao’s hand. It’s gleaming silver and it’s polished, to the point where Sehun can see his reflection. It’s a heart.

 

Zitao slips it into his pocket, but then he removes something from it too. It’s bright and sunny, almost golden. Zitao grabs Sehun’s wrist and slips the object into Sehun’s hand.

 

Sehun wakes up.

 

***

 

Sehun falls off the couch, letting out a quick yelp as he hits the ground. He checks the time on his phone. Three am. 

 

There’s an indescribable itch under his skin, the want to do something, anything. To move, to fix this. Sehun takes a deep, shaky breath. He can’t wait till the morning. 

 

Sehun gets his keys, and he’s wearing sweatpants and a five year old MCR shirt which has a hole in it, but it doesn’t matter, he can’t change. Not now. The itch is clawing at him, and he needs to go,  _ now.  _

 

_ “Talk to Zitao.” _

 

Sehun gets to the front door when he realises it’s raining, and a part of him is telling him to go back inside, that he should just go in the morning, but somehow he knows that if he goes back inside he’ll never end up talking to Zitao, that he’ll shut himself away until it’s just another thing he ran away from. 

 

Sehun steps into the rain. 

 

***

 

Twenty minutes later he’s in the hallway where Zitao’s apartment is, and he’s shivering slightly because he’s soaking wet, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s here, he made it. He’s outside Zitao’s door, and he reaches out to ring the doorbell, but he freezes. 

 

He can hear his heart pounding in his ears and he doesn’t know if he should do this, but then he thinks of Zitao’s texts and what Chanyeol had told him, and he rings the bell. His hand shakes as he brings it back to his side but he forces himself to stay.  _ Don’t run. _

 

The door swings open, and Sehun almost bolts, but then he sees Zitao’s face, how tired and distraught he looks, and he chokes back a sob. Zitao’s eyes fully open from the half asleep expression they were in when he sees that it’s Sehun. 

 

“Hun-ah? W-” 

 

Sehun stares at him for a split second until his mind is flashing back to a conversation they had months ago and he surges forward, hands on Zitao’s face.

 

“You,” he says simply, and then he’s kissing him, and Zitao’s kissing back, and for the first time in a week Sehun feels peace in his soul. They pull away, and Zitao’s staring at him as if he has a million questions. 

 

“Sehun, you’re soaking wet, what are you-” 

 

Sehun keeps his hands on Zitao’s face. He needs Zitao to look at him, to listen to him. 

 

“You asked me- Back in spring, you asked me what it would take to get me to stay.”

 

Sehun’s voice is heavy right now, and he’s about to cry, but he can’t afford that, not now, so he forges ahead. 

 

“I didn’t answer then because I didn’t know, but I do now, Zitao. You. It’s you.” 

 

Sehun’s crying now, and his tears are mingling with the rain on his face, and then Zitao’s arms are around him, pulling him in, holding him close. Sehun shivers against Zitao’s chest. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he’s shaking even more now. Zitao runs his hands up and down Sehun’s arms. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left you like that, I was scared, and I ran away and- and-”

 

“Shh, Hun-ah, it’s okay to be scared. Everyone’s scared of something. I’m scared of ghosts, Chanyeol is scared of my motorcycle. You were scared. You ran. It’s okay, though, Hun-ah, it’s okay. You came back, you’re alright, that’s all that matters.” 

 

Sehun’s still finding it hard to breathe, but Zitao is there, holding him. It’s okay.

 

It’ll be okay.

 

***

 

Sehun rolls over in bed, searching for the blanket. It’s spring again. 

 

“Share, you blanket hog,” he mumbles, not wanting to open his eyes. He knows Zitao has the blanket. 

 

Zitao doesn’t answer, so Sehun nudges his stomach. 

 

“Blanket,” he says, humming contently as Zitao tosses the blanket over him. Zitao doesn’t stop there, however. He pulls Sehun in and rolls them over so that Sehun is now fully lying on top of him. Sehun keeps his eyes shut. 

 

“You have class today, Hun-ah.” 

 

“I can skip,” Sehun mumbles into Zitao’s neck. “It’s only World Dance Histories.” 

 

“I’ll make you pancakes if you go.” 

 

Sehun considers it, and then whines, but he sits up anyways, looking at Zitao under him with faux grumpiness. 

 

“ _ Fine,  _ I’ll go.” 

 

Zitao beams up at him and reaches up to stroke Sehun’s bedhead out of his face. The words spill out of Sehun’s mouth, unbidden, easily, as they have for so long now. 

 

“I love you.” 

 

Zitao smiles wider, his other hand covering Sehun’s.

 

“I love you too.”

 

Sehun stayed.


End file.
